


Quickies

by waxwolf



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, Fluff and Smut, One Shot Collection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-19
Updated: 2017-07-15
Packaged: 2018-11-15 21:05:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11239191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waxwolf/pseuds/waxwolf
Summary: Some one shots that have been kicking around in my head. Mostly fluff and smut. Will probably update occasionally?





	1. Top Chef

_ Five minutes remaining. _

Out of the corner of her eye Root sees Shaw reaching for the bourbon and tumblers. She’s making a cocktail! The question was specifically who could make a better sandwich, not sandwich-cocktail combo. Fusco won’t drink, and Finch should have the sense not to let a non-sandwich item affect his judgement, but she’s not sure about John. The Machine would have made a better judge for this. She should never have caved to Shaw’s insistence that the judges have tastebuds. Maybe she should whip up a last minute salad. Does John eat salad?

Root peaks out of the kitchen to check on the judges. Finch is typing something into his laptop. Fusco is chatting at John. John looks like he’s getting ready to bolt. He catches her looking at him, so she flashes one of her less settling smiles.

“Giving up already? I expected more of a fight.” Shaw pours a little of the barley tea that’s been brewing since they first started this over ice in one of the tumblers. Is she making a mock old fashioned for Fusco? What an evil genius. And that smug face. Someone’s going to need to be punished when this is over.

“Just taking a moment to visualize my inevitable victory.” Root flips the eggs in her pan and admires their perfectly unbroken yolks. Salads be damned. Her sandwiches are going to be flawless. Any accompaniment would dilute their perfection.

_ Two minutes remaining. _

The Machine’s chime over the bluetooth speaker reminds Root she better start plating her masterpiece. Sourdough, avocado, over easy egg, chopped sundried tomatoes, salt, pepper, parmesan, a little sriracha - the perfect sandwich. She’s feeling festive so she adds a tiny sprig of parsley to each for garnish. All three plates make it out to the boys with less than a minute left. Shaw’s pastrami on rye sandwiches with their accompanying drinks are already there.

“Alright, then.” Finch clears his throat. “Let’s get this over with.” He cuts a little section out of Root’s masterpiece and places it in his mouth. John and Fusco follow suit. Root reads their expressions while they chew. Fusco is like an open book - he didn’t expect to like the sandwich, but he loves it. Finch and John are much more closed off, but they both seem to be enjoying themselves as well. After a few more bites they drink some water and stretch their jaws to accommodate Shaw’s beast of a sandwich. It’s pure pastrami with mustard and some other sauce Shaw wouldn’t let her see. Not a vegetable in sight. It looks alright, but nothing special. And yet. They love it. Every single one of them adores Shaw’s sandwich. They like their drinks too, but the sandwich is the star. She glances over at Shaw, and the glint in her eye says it all. They both know she won.

“Enjoy your meal boys.” Shaw turns and heads back towards the kitchen. Root follows her.

“Didn’t you want to hear some kind of verdict?” Fusco asks with his mouth full.

“I think we all know who won here.” Shaw smiles and disappears fully into the kitchen with Root shortly behind her. “Loser does the dishes.” Shaw hops up on the counter and grabs the extra sandwich Root had made for herself. She eats half of it before declaring it to be “not bad.” Then she goes to town on her own extra sandwich.

_ Not bad?  _ Root’s lips twitch into a smile. Shaw might think she’s impossible to read, but Root’s had some practice. Shaw liked that sandwich a whole hell of a lot more than she’s willing to admit.


	2. Need a Hand?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is definitely the smut half of the fluff and smut

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PWP

It’s not fair, but then, Shaw reminds herself, life isn’t fair. It was a dumb bet - first one to ask for sex loses, winner gets to choose their next vacation - but it had seemed so easy when she made it. If she’s gone for 5 days on a mission, Root practically (and on a couple occasions literally) rips her clothes off the second she gets home. Shaw, on the other hand can go weeks no problem. Under normal circumstances, Shaw is very good at taking care of herself. However. She glares at the casts around her hands and takes a long sip of scotch out of her stupid straw. These are not normal circumstances.

Root takes this moment to saunter in wearing nothing but a pair of lacy undies and one of Shaw’s tank tops.

“Oh hey, Shaw. Didn’t see you sitting there.” Shaw redirects her glare at Root. What an asshole. Root seduces her way over and casually knocks the remote off the couch. When it hits the floor, and Shaw is convinced Root put some kind of crazy spin on it to do this on purpose, it changes the channel from football to the home shopping network.

“Root!”

“Oh I’m sorry, sugar. Let me get that for you.” Root slowly bends over, and Shaw is only human. Her eyes travel from Root’s ass, down the length of her legs, and return to sender. Heat starts radiating from her crotch. Again. And there is nothing she could do about it. Again.

Her fingers got broken in a fist fight with a knight at Medieval Times a week ago. Root spent the first couple days fussing over her and making sure she was comfortable, well fed, and all that. Once it was clear that Shaw was okay, minus the inconvenience, though, things took a turn. Root had been lounging on the couch next to her reading a book, wearing those damn glasses, and no bra. Shaw’s eyes may have lingered on the peaks of Root’s nipples straining through the fabric of her t-shirt, and Root may have noticed.

“See something you like?”

“Maybe. Do you want to do something about that?” She had given Root her flirty smile, thinking Root would cave and lose the bet. This had been a tactical error.

“Oh sweetie, you know I’d love to, but…” Root’s lips had twisted into an almost manic smile. “I’m afraid you’ll have to ask.” Before Shaw could get her retort out, Root’s hand had slid up and pinched her own nipple, and Shaw’s mouth had gone dry. Her other hand made the journey into her sweatpants shortly thereafter, and Root had made a little pleased sound. Shaw’s own fingers twitched involuntarily inside her cast and Shaw rolled her eyes at the resulting pain. The rest of the afternoon had gone horribly. For Shaw. For Root it seemed to go pretty satisfyingly.

Ever since Root had pressed her advantage at least once a day - giving Shaw increasingly shameless shows, then loudly getting herself off while Shaw watches helplessly. It’s what she’s doing right now, watching helplessly, trying not to whimper as Root’s long fingers circle once, twice, and then enter herself.

“Oh, Shaw.” Root moans, and brings her slick fingers up towards Shaw’s face. “Open.” Shaw opens and is immediately rewarded/tortured with those Root coated fingers being shoved in her mouth. She thinks this should count as sex. She thinks Root should lose the bet because of this, but knows Root would fight her on it. Goddamn she wants her so bad right now. She should never have opened. “Good girl.” Fuck. A whimper escaped. “You know I want to… give you a hand.” Root’s eyes sparkle with her pun. Nerd. She leans forward so that her lips are brushing the edges of Shaw’s ears. “But you’ve got to ask, baby. Can you ask for me?” Fuckfuckfuck.

“Fuck me.”

“What’s the magic word?” Root bites her neck perfectly.

“Please. Fuck me, please.” No camping. A whole week in Harry Potter World. All because she can’t not come right now… But goddamn is it worth it as soon as Root’s fingers find her.

“That’s my girl.” Root strokes her firmly and nibbles on her neck a little more. It feels so good another whimper fights its way out of her mouth, but she wants more.

“Inside.” Root would usually tease her for being so demanding, but she must know how badly Shaw needs this right now, because without further ado 3 of Root’s marvelous fingers fill her up, and press right into her g-spot. “Ah-! Yea, right there. Oh god, Root.” She’s thrusting hard and slow into Shaw, hitting that spot each time, telling Shaw she’s good, pushing her shirt up to take a nipple into her mouth. And Shaw is arching, pushing into Root’s hand, pawing at her back with her cast mittened hands.

“Come, Sameen.”

Hell yes. The orgasm rips through her, and she cries out. A whumph of air escapes Root as Shaw pulls her in. She giggles happily, and strokes a secondary out of Shaw, before settling down onto Shaw’s face for her own orgasm.

After, they lie together in blissful silence for 10 whole minutes while Root plays with Shaw’s hair. Then Root starts going over the itinerary she’s been planning for Harry Potter World. Shaw hopes butterbeer is alcoholic. 


	3. What's In a Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Got the idea for this one off a Tumblr post. It's from Finch's perspective. Shaw, unfortunately, is not in it (sad trombone), but she'll be back for the next update

“Signore.” The waitress places his sencha on the table and heads back towards the kitchen. She's tall, with loose brown curls and a sharp nose. It reminds him of his not so distant past. 

“You're getting that look in your eye again, Harold. Are you thinking about… John? That was his name, right?” He still isn't sure if telling Grace about them, about everything was the right decision, but he had wanted so badly to try honesty for a change. 

“Not John, actually. I was thinking of Ms. Groves.”

Out of nowhere the sky darkens and he hears the distant threat of thunder.

“Oh my.  _ That  _ wasn't in the forecast this morning. Shall we head back home before it's too late?”

“I think that would be for the best.” She already has her jacket on, and is fishing a few bills out of her purse. “Maybe we can cozy up and finally watch that whale documentary on Netflix.”

They barely make it home before the sky lets loose and plasters the pavement in rain. 

* * *

Something startles Harold from a dream of battling orchestras. Or did he imagine it… He sits bolt upright for two minutes in the dark, before putting on his glasses and slipping out of bed for a glass of milk. His nerves aren't what they used to be.

“Hi Harold.” Milk spills everywhere and he almost falls over. 

“Where did- You're alive!”

“It's good to see you alive as well.” She walks over and brushes something off the shoulder of his sleeping shirt. He gapes. There was so much blood. They had a funeral. How was she possibly still alive? “I’m afraid I’m not just here for a social call, though.”

“Samaritan?!”

“Those assholes? Pft. No. Shaw and I took care of the stragglers weeks ago.” 

“Then what is it, Ms. Groves?”

“Yes, that’s it.”

“What?”

“Names. There’s so much to a name, wouldn’t you say?”

“I don’t believe I follow.” She’s smiling at him, but it has that edge to it that prickles the hairs on the back of his neck.

“You don’t Harold? Or should I say… Harold. Andrew. Hole.” A chill goes down his spine.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh Harry. We both know that you do.” He hadn’t heard that name in years - decades! And he had hoped never to have to hear it again.

“How?”

“Give me a little credit.” She radiates smugness, but then all at once her face lights up with glee. “Hey sweetie, what’s up?” She’s not talking to him. “Not much, just taking a little daytrip. I’ll be home in time to tuck you in tonight.” She grins at whatever she hears in response to that, then turns her focus back to him. “Where were we? Oh yes. Names. Funny things aren’t they, Harry? Sometimes you were born with one name, but you would just rather go by something else.” He feels himself turning red.

“I suppose.”

“Glad we understand each other.” The smugness is back in full force. She tugs her jacket off of his dining room chair. “I’d love to stay for a cup of tea, but I’ve got some… things to do back in New York. I’d like to keep in touch. If you’re not up for that, that’s fine, but don’t forget about this little conversation next time you’re referring to me.” He hears thunder rumble in the distance again. He really hopes she hasn’t figured out a way to control the weather.

“Goodbye Root.”

“Goodbye Finch.”


	4. Down Bottom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a couple goofs being goofs.

Root grits her teeth and deadlifts her grocery bags when the elevator doors open. Maybe she should get one of those ridiculous foldable carts… No, it wouldn’t go with her leather jackets - any of them. She’ll just have to start working out more. Or she can get Shaw to come with her next time she goes shopping. Mmm yes. Those arms could carry anything. Maybe she’d even work up a sweat. Root smiles to herself as she heads over to their shared apartment. 

She’s only a few steps away from their door at the end of the hall when she starts to hear it - the singing. Is... that Ruff Ryders? Is it coming from their apartment? Impossible. Shaw never sings. And yet… It does sound an awful lot like Shaw. Root slips her key into the deadbolt, and eases the door open.

“DO Y’ALL BITCHES BUST Y’ALL GUNZ? HELL YEA WE BUST OUR GUNS!”

“Oh my..” Root bites her tongue. This is priceless. Shaw singing full volume into a half empty bottle of scotch. She cannot know Root is watching this. She drops down, leaves the groceries by the door, and duck walks over to hide behind their dining room setup. Maybe not the best spot, but she’s pretty sure it’ll do the trick. Shaw has those nice noise canceling headphones Root bought for herself clamped around her adorable ears. Her back is to Root, ass swaying hypnotizingly, and she’s clearly drunk as fuck.

“DO Y’ALL FUCK ‘EM TIL THEY COME? DAMN RIGHT WE MAKE EM COME!”

Well, she ain’t lying. Root smiles to herself as Shaw does a little thrust-y move. She gets to witness all this, and lord it over Shaw later that she managed to go undetected for so long.

“It’s for the North-HEY South-HEY East-HEY West-HEY! Ruff Ryders gonna show y’all bitches who ride the best!” She takes a big swallow from her ‘microphone’ then drops down low. “Come on, Nerd! No more hiding. Dance or get the fuck out!” Root freezes, then catches sight of Shaw’s triumphant grin in the reflection of the window. Shaw turns and smoothly dances over to where Root’s still crouching. She bends down to whisper in her ear. “Do I have to say it twice?”

Root may have over-estimated how drunk Shaw was. She should know better by now. Shaking her head in defeat, she gets up does a little turn, and puts her hands on Shaw’s waist. Shaw smirks, then immediately starts grinding up on her while blazing through the rest of the lyrics. Well. Maybe it’s not a total loss.


End file.
